The air snapped.
Not like thunder. Like pressure—like the whole world was holding its breath, caught on the edge of something that couldn't be undone.
Lyle stood in the center of it all, every joint trembling. A low, unnatural hum rose from deep in his chest, like a storm gathering in reverse. His eyes didn't glow—they fractured. Veins of gold lightning splintered across his irises, flickering like cracked glass under strain. Behind him, his shadow stretched long and wrong, twitching with threads of corrupted light… and something else. Something alive.
"Stay back," Markus said, pushing Rowan behind him with a steady hand.
But Lyle wasn't seeing them anymore.
He wasn't seeing anything.
His body jerked forward—unnatural, marionette-like. His arms hung limp at his sides as arcs of wild electricity danced around him, snapping like living chains. Crackling, restless. Starved.
The Azure Strifelion—ever stalwart—stepped back. Even it felt the shift. Even it hesitated.
Then Lyle spoke.
But it wasn't him.
The voice was doubled. Split. One part was his: strained, breaking. The other… older. Cracked and layered, like an ancient machine speaking through a broken vocalizer. Like memory trying to crawl out of a coffin.
"We are not yours to fix."
Aria stepped forward, pale. "Lyle… I know you're in there. I know you are."
"You buried us," the voice replied.
"All of you."
"We remember."
The words hit her like a blade.
She remembered.
The day he came back from the war—once a decorated pilot, the ace of the skies. As long as he flew, his squad had hope. Untouchable. Invincible. And then… nothing.
Buried. Forgotten. Like none of them ever existed. Like their sacrifice was an error someone deleted from the records.
She remembered when he visited her in the hospital. She was still just an intern. He'd walked in—haunted, hollow—and picked up a scalpel from a tray, staring at it like it held meaning. Then he'd smiled, soft and distant.
"You made it," he'd said. "You got out."
She had kept that scalpel ever since. Even now, in this twisted world that had stolen everything else, she carried it.
Now she understood why.
The curse had grown sentient. It had splintered from Lyle's soul, but still wore his skin. A wound that had learned to speak.
Markus raised his blade. "Aria… if we don't stop him—"
"Don't," the Strifelion growled.
Markus blinked at it. He didn't know why he obeyed. He just did. Something in its voice—calm, ancient, commanding—told him there were deeper currents in play. He lowered his weapon.
High above, Jacob watched through the Strifelion's fractured eyes. His body was somewhere else, too far to act—but his soul still burned inside the beast. The sensory feedback was raw, flickering—like trying to see through broken glass. But he saw enough.
Lyle was gone.
But not lost.
He was unraveling.
And Jacob was running out of time.
⸻
Elsewhere, on a ridge overlooking the chaos, Geneva lowered her scope.
The red-haired man beside her didn't even glance her way. His bow hung slack, but his eyes were sharp.
"I had to trigger the Ragebrand," Geveno said, voice steady. "It was the only way. If he lost control, we could justify putting him down."
Geneva's jaw clenched. "If the quest jumps, we lose everything. You get that, right?"
"Yeah," Geveno muttered. "I know."
"If it leaves him, it won't just find someone we choose. It could go to anyone. And then it's a royal rumble."
She didn't say the rest—but they both knew what it meant: their factions, their followers, their friends. Everyone would be dragged into a bloodbath. One quest. One victor. All others must fall.
Geveno's knuckles whitened on his bow. "He still has it," he said. "I can feel it."
"Good," Geneva murmured. But her voice wavered. "Let's hope he holds on."
⸻
Back on the battlefield, Jacob felt it—the pull of desperation, sharper than ever.
If I can't reach him… maybe she can.
The Strifelion's gaze slid to Aria, then back to Lyle—lost in the eye of a storm he didn't ask for.
A bond. That was the answer.
Not force.
Not fear.
Connection.
Jacob poured his will through the fading Azure Strifelion. His soul flared, pushing through its crystalline channels. The doll cracked under the strain—but it was enough.
"Soul-Link: Ethereal Flame – Aria."
The light erupted, lashing outward.
"Aria!" he shouted through the Strifelion's mouth—just before the doll shattered under the pressure. Its crystal frame exploded into radiant fragments, gone in an instant.
But the ritual had started.
The flame touched her wrist—and the world shifted.
⸻
{Skill Triggered: Ethereal Soulflame Link (Custom Override)}
{Subroutine: Anchor Protocol — Dual Sync Initiated}
{Target: Lyle prophet}
{Link Source: Aria prophet}
{Stabilization Threshold: 37%… 42%… 51%…}
Aria screamed—but the sound was swallowed by silence, dragged through the void Lyle floated in.
She saw it.
His soul.
Torn. Wrapped in barbs of memory and rage. Suspended between what he had been and what the curse demanded he become. A vessel, chiseled out of sorrow.
He didn't look like Lyle.
But she knew it was him.
She reached through the dark.
Thorns slashed. Shadows bit. But she kept moving.
"Lyle," she whispered, "I kept it. The scalpel."
A pause.
A flicker.
"I remember," she said, her voice breaking. "You held it. Smiled like it was already over. But it wasn't. You were still here. You're still here."
His head lifted. Light spun behind his eyes—not the cursed gold, but something older. Truer.
The Ragebrand pulsed—trying to expel her.
But her flame burned brighter.
This wasn't magic.
This was history.
⸻
{Warning: Anchor Breach Detected. Linking Multiple Fractured Identities.}
{Stabilization Threshold: 63%… 78%… 91%…}
{Override Success.}
{Sub-Soul Entity Bound: Guardian Core: Revenant (Ragebrand Class)}
{Secondary Link Established: Aria prophet — Soul Anchor Node Confirmed.}
{Quest Stability: Restored. Archon of Man Quest Maintained.}
Lyle collapsed—not broken, but reborn. His body hit the glass like someone dragged out of the abyss. Golden light leaked from the cracks, flickering. His breath came ragged.
But he was breathing.
He was back.
⸻
Geveno lowered his bow. His shoulders eased. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.
Geneva just stared.
"…Well," she muttered. "That complicates things."
But neither of them denied it.
They'd tried to break him.
Instead, Lyle had returned.
And something else had come with him.
Something ancient.
Something awake.
Not a curse.
Not a weapon.
A truth.
Born from the core of who he was—what he had endured, what he refused to let die.
Soul Skill Unlocked: Soul Script
The embodiment of self made manifest.
A soul's will, carved into reality.
Not forged by power, but by identity.
Lyle hadn't just come back.
He came back defined.
And the world would have to reckon with what that meant.
⸻
On the field, the last fragments of the Azure Strifelion glimmered—then burst into light.
Jacob was gone.
His role was finished.
But his gamble had worked.
And far off, Geveno allowed himself a rare, tired smile.
The quest hadn't jumped.
Lyle still held it.
They had what they needed.
Now all that was left…
…was finishing the job.